But the clouds hang lower as we emerge on the high bare plain. A few
flakes--then, in a twinkling, a whirling snow-storm through which we can
hardly see our way. But we fight through it, and along the roads every
one of which is famous in the history of the battle. At our northernmost
point we are about thirty miles from Soissons and the line. Columns of
French infantry on the march, guns, ammunition, stores, field kitchens,
pass us perpetually; the motor moves at a foot's pace, and we catch the
young faces of the soldiers through the white thickened air. And our
most animated and animating companion, Monsieur P----, with his
wonderful knowledge of the battle, hails every landmark, identifies
every farm and wood, even in what has become, in less than an hour, a
white wilderness. But it is of one village only, of these many whose
names are henceforth known to history, that I wish to speak--the
village of Vareddes. In my next letter I propose to tell the ghastly
story of the hostages of Vareddes.
No. 8
_May 17th_, 1917.
Pages:
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171